The 12th Precinct
by bookworm1818
Summary: A series of oneshots less than 800 words that are about anyone and anything! T just to be safe, most chapters are K/K . Some fluff, some angst, some romance... Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1

Hello everyone!

Before I get yelled at, just let me say that I didn't want to spoil these one shots with my boring ramble, so my comments are in one, separate author's note.

This is my latest attempt to entertain you guys as we wait for upcoming Castle episodes! This is a series of short, unrelated oneshots. They can be just about anything and set at any time. Therefore, as the season progresses, stories may reference spoilers from episodes or the press. I will do my best to mention what type of spoilers will be in a story, but **READ AT YOUR OWN RISK**.

Feel free to criticize my writing! Reviews (even if they're bad!) make my day! ;)

You guys are the best!  
>bookworm1818<p> 


	2. 50

Spoilers: Killshot (4x09)

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><p>It had been a long time ago.<p>

But not really.

He usually tries to block those memories out. Hide from them.

No. Not hide, avoid.

Yeah, avoid is a better word.

He usually tries to avoid them. But it doesn't matter. That was a different Javier. Someone foreign, someone who lived a different life.

Someone who never left Afghanistan.

But every once in a while, Javier Esposito the sniper leaves Afghanistan and came to visit. New York. When that happened, Javier usually calls in sick. He spends a day putting himself back together, then goes to work the next day, fine once again.

But sometimes, you just couldn't escape.

He remembers, very clearly, that sunny, New York day. He can still feel it. The fear, the excitement, the desperation... just like old days. He can almost feel the hot, middle-eastern sun burning on the back of his neck, hear the breath and footsteps of his spotter behind him, and taste the dust in his mouth. As he runs up the stairs to the roof of the building, he can feel the familiar sweating of his palms, hear his heartbeat, and see his fingers tremble against his rifle.

Javier glances over his shoulder nervously. He knows that the building is clear, but he feels naked without a spotter behind him. He turns forward, looking ahead. If there's any danger, it will be on the roof. He doubts it, though. His experience as a sniper tells him that the danger would be in the other building; it has a better view.

He reaches the door to the roof. The process of clearing an area that has been drilled into his brain.

Deep breath. Kick. Look. Look. Look. Signal.

"Clear!" He shouts. No one can hear, but it doesn't matter. It comforts him.

But he came here for a reason. It has a perfect view of his target.

He rushes to the side of the building, to the wide concrete wall and looks down. What he sees causes him to instantly set his rifle down on the ledge. Urgently, he searches for something, anything that can get him a sense of the wind direction and speed. He finds nothing.

He looks back into the room in the building across the street. Lee is raising the gun, while Kate sits on the ground, her face panicked. Lee's finger moves to the trigger.

That moment of self-doubt that he always experiences before he kills someone courses through him. What has this person done to deserve to die? Would anyone mourn this person's death? Would he even make the shot? If he didn't, what would the consequences be? Why had he chosen to do this with his life?

But he waves those questions aside.

He has a job to do.

He pulls the trigger with the ball of his finger and a loud, familiar crack echoes through the air. Lee falls, and a bewildered Beckett rushes to him. Understanding crosses her face, and she looks out the window as Javier takes his rifle from the ledge.

Their eyes meet. His face is grim.

It's his 50th kill.


	3. Band Aids

Spoilers: None

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><p>Alexis had always been a tough, rational kid, even when she was just five years old. Her weakness was Band-Aids.<p>

He used to joke that for her, Band-Aids could make anything better. If she spilt her sippy-cup, she'd ask for a Band-Aid. If she scraped her knee at the park, he'd carry her home to get a Band-Aid. If she had a bad dream in the middle of the night, he would get her a Band-Aid.

When she was little, he would scoop her up in his arms and walk to the bathroom, where he kept the Band-Aids. He would then open the cabinet, and allow her to choose which kind she wanted. She would sit on his hip with her index finger pressed to her chin as she tried to decide which was best. Once she had made her decision, she would point at her selection.

By the time she was eight, the floral Band-Aids were gone, and he only bought the simple beige ones. But Alexis was smart, and she didn't need a Band-Aid to solve her problems anymore.

There was only one effect Alexis's old Band-Aid obsession had had on her that Castle could see: she tended to react to a wound based on a Band-Aids ability to fix it. If she saw a paper cut, she was fine. But, when she saw him slice his hand open while chopping onions, she had thrown up in the garbage can.

And that was why Castle believed that she was so abnormally terrified of guns.

Because a Band-Aid can't fix a bullet wound.


End file.
